Assassination Techniques
by produkt
Summary: How Altaïr and Malik learned some new techniques, starting with the air assassination and then learning how to assassinate from a hiding spot. gay love warning.
1. Air Assasination

AN: This will eventually be three chapters long, one for each of the techniques. I apologize for any historical inaccuracies and failed characterization. Please take it easy on my lack of writing skill, just getting back into the swing of it. Thank you and enjoy.

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The night in Masyaf was still, quiet and peaceful. The day's heat still lingered in the darkness, clinging to stone and sand alike and brought even night owls to await its passing and enjoy the cool of their homes. Most had retired to have their dinner and then rest at this time, but assassins were tireless, disciplined and wasted little time on things such as rest. Malik and Altaïr were no exception to this rule.

Walking into the court yard after having returned from Jerusalem, thoughts and plans and strategies buzzed in Altaïr's mind as well as a few questions he planned to spend the night trying to riddle out of the apple. He was sufficiently distracted from these thoughts by a light penetrating the darkness, emanating between the closed doors of the castle and shining dimly through the windows. There was always one torch lit at night; however this was a bit lighter than was customary for this time yet the castle was just as silent as he would expect.

Initially Altaïr was wary; he had every reason to be. The apple was inside, his journal and a wealth of other things a Templar would have use of. Silent as a bird in flight he slipped inside the castle, fleeing the light of the unexplained torch in favor of the shadows that it cast. Peering up the steps of the hall he could see its source was from his and Malik's study. He knew then that it was likely his friend and his second, pouring over this or that in his usual penchant for becoming lost in paper and scrolls. However knowing better than to assume, Altaïr took to the walls to make certain.

He climbed the nearest pillar to the second floor and briefly perched upon the railing. Altaïr was relieved to find that it was indeed Malik who sat in the torchlight, hunched over his desk and asleep or near to it by the look of him. His right hand was buried in his hair as he leaned upon his elbow, the quill he must've been writing with abandoned in plain view on the desk. Normally Altaïr would have gone to his friend and helped him to his chambers, or carried the man if he truly was asleep. Only if no one else was watching, for the sake of Malik's pride and nothing else.

Not tonight.

Tonight a rare bout of youth suddenly took hold of the great and wise (and twenty four year old) Master of Masyaf. Still balancing on the railing rather than step onto the nearby floor he took to the next pillar and climbed. Sidling across the moldings in the high ceiling, Altaïr crept quietly closer to Malik, clinging to the side of the wall and making not a sound. Just as he found the right position Malik gave a long, exhausted sigh, warding off sleep in a final resolution to call it a night. He scratched at his scalp just before setting his hand back down upon the desk, looking at the empty hall with a dry and tired expression.

A grin was flickering across the features of his face to see Malik awake and that was when Altaïr made his move. Malik jolted and looked upwards just in time to see the Grandmaster leaping from his hand and foot holds along the ceiling, coming straight for him.

"Alt-!" His cry was stolen from him just as the air from his lungs had been as near two hundred pounds of assassin came careening into his body. He was knocked clean from his chair and to the floor, spread out upon it with Altaïr crouched over top of him, a strong hand on his shoulder holding him to the floor.

Malik blinked hazily, but even before he had full comprehension of what had happened he was scowling. He glared hotly up at Altaïr, attempting to rise and finding himself unable to due to the hand upon his shoulder and now another on his bicep.

He reached up and grabbed a fist full of the assassin's sleeve, all he could reach, absolutely seething as Altaïr leaned down closer to him, noses inches apart. "Safety and peace, brother." Altaïr greeted in a tone lighter than Malik had heard in quite some time. Malik's teeth ground hard in his anger and he hardly even heard that rare laugh of Altaïr's, soft and rough, like the distant rumble of a storm. The playful kiss that Altaïr pressed to his cheek and the scratch of his stubble not enough to calm him.

Malik was too angry to be charmed. "You novice! You fool! What were you thinking Altaïr?" His voice was heavy with exhaustion and venom, yet still Malik had all the energy in the world to deal with this child of a man. He kneed the master hard enough in the stomach to send him stumbling backwards, off of his friend and falling back onto his rear on the stone floor, still grinning. That damn smile.

Sitting up now Malik grabbed a fistful of cloth at the assassin's collar; pulling it tight across his throat and yanking that grinning face closer in hopes that it might wipe the smile from it. It didn't. "Your stupidity knows no limit, were you not my brother I would throw you from the window." And still with this threat, the man was still smiling. Malik shook him by the grip he had in his robes and he was still smiling, allowing his body to move with the roughness.

An hour ago if asked he would have had nothing to say about the Grandmaster but respect and loyalty with a love he never spoke of hidden behind his words. Right now, he hated him, hated his stupid novice antics and all his talent and his stupid face with that stupid smile.

"In the name of the Gods, what are you smiling at?" Malik demanded as he stopped shaking the man long enough for him to respond. Altaïr's grin widened. "Jumping from a high place onto a target such as that would be a very effective assassination method." Altaïr responded simply, and Malik could not contain himself.

He let go of the master assassin only to punch him square in the nose, hard enough to Altaïr's body flailing back onto the ground.

Malik stood and brushed himself off; collecting the papers he had been studying and putting them away before striding down the hall. He called back to Altaïr. "We will practice this technique in the morning before I allow you to teach such foolishness to the novices. You are sleeping alone tonight."

Altaïr remained where he had fallen for a moment, spread out upon the stone floor. Blood trickled from his nose and down his face, and he smiled. It would be an eventful night.


	2. Assassinate from Hiding Spot

The times when Malik felt playful were few and far between. That said Malik was never much of one to not let Altaïr know how he was feeling. Granted he most often felt anger and irritation towards the master of Masyaf but that only made these rare moments that much more worth enjoying. If only Malik didn't pick such inconvenient times when Altaïr was at his most focused, truly becoming more eagle than man as he swept through the streets of Jerusalem with Malik at his side.

It truly was their first mission together since Solomon's Temple. Because of that silent, unsaid fact, Altaïr had met his challenge with trepidation due to the outcome of their last mission together. Malik had picked up on this uneasiness and guilt and rather than reassure his brother, Malik had delighted in this rare opportunity and had been making remarks that only he found funny ever since they had departed from Masyaf. Let him have his jokes, the mission had gone successfully and a co-conspirator of Al Mualim's had fallen silently and swiftly thanks to their capable hands. They had been departing the scene when a joke spoken as softly as a brush of air was said into his ear.

_No loss of limb or life this time eh, Altaïr?_

Malik came up behind him when he said it like the shadow of guilt that had been looming over him nonsensically ever since Masyaf. Even though he did not see the other man, he knew he was smiling, and that on top of what was said broke his concentration in such a way that he rarely experienced. Altaïr missed his jump to the roof adjacent to the one they'd been standing on, which was no trouble as he simply grabbed onto ledges and eased his descent, flowing with the wind as it blew him to the ground rather than the air. Always a bad sign. When his feet touched the dusty streets, he was standing in front of a group of guards on patrol. Altaïr paused for a moment, as did they, glanced up to see that Malik was gone as though he had never been there, and lowered his eyes to find spears and swords at the ready.

He ran.

Altaïr was flying through the streets, without the weight of Malik's company this felt so much easier and his shoulders felt that much lighter. He dodged around people, swung into alleyways and danced away from the edges of swords and arrows alike as they flew at him. He was in his element and what to do came to him without thinking, without planning, all he had to do was feel it with his final destination being the only thing to guide his feet.

It was literally a sharp tug that pulled him back down to earth and from there into a mound of hay that he had previously had too much forward momentum to take cover in without being seen. Malik made all of that irrelevant. Malik seemed to make many things irrelevant.

Altaïr found himself on the floor of the hay cart with Malik pressed against his back, the assassin's only hand covering his mouth, his breath hot and sticky against his neck. It was only then that Altaïr realized his hood had been forced down by being dragged into the hay, and then he realized he had been dragged into the hay at all. Altaïr was in awe of how Malik had managed to time that so perfectly, to predict his approach and then be able to take hold of him and pull him, full grown and heavy with muscle and with all the force of speed so suddenly into the hay. Malik had thought to cover his mouth so quickly so as to steal the sounds of surprise from him as well. Altaïr was both impressed and intrigued, so much so that Malik's voice, quiet just as before, startled him.

"Remember your training, novice." Malik's smooth and masculine voice rolled into his ear and felt louder than the whisper that it was. This statement puzzled Altaïr and he chanced a glance over his shoulder. A small movement lest he risk disturbing the hay and making the movement visible, as that was one of two important practices an assassin must apply when hiding. Be still, be silent.

The riddle had been solved in that moment, aiding by Malik's hand leaving his mouth and creeping down his body like a spider. _Not now_ was what Altaïr wanted to say but he followed the rafiq's advice. Were he not currently being pursued he would have defied the other assassin simply to know what awaited him if he did, but Malik always had a way of cornering Altaïr and leaving him with only one option. And what a cold, difficult option, as he could predict Malik's destination as that hand made it's descent.

It crept beneath his robes like a parasite digging into his skin and found his sex with no trouble at all. He could feel Malik's smile against his neck to find the eagle was half hard already. Altaïr felt bristling shame pair with the excitement of that familiar, rough hand and this unorthodox situation. He was certain he would be explaining this several times over as the other man would taunt him for it, but he was helpless to the adrenaline of a situation and the small bursts of freedom he could find from being so indestructible.

Malik's breath was warm and slow against the skin of his neck, unaffected by what he was doing. Altaïr struggled to be so composed. That hand taunted him, palming over his member, up and down, not wrapping around his member just yet. Up and down, methodically, slowly, dipping lower to rub and cup his balls, to tease his opening with fingertips that could just barely reach it. Altaïr's hands twisted around strands of hay and he dared to spread his legs just a hair, encouraging his lover as well as giving him more room to move. Malik responded by grasping Altaïr's balls firmly, an action that effectively stopped his moving and very nearly stopped his breathing, as well.

"Be still." Malik's voice was still quiet, but seemed to have lead behind it for how heavy it felt. Altaïr complied, once again having no other option. Only once Malik was sure that the grandmaster understood his point did that hand begin to move again. Stealthy fingers massaged his opening where Malik had taken him so many times and Altaïr could feel the other man's hardness against his hip. A slow, sticky bite to the back of his throat and Altaïr knew how much Malik struggled to be still as well, to contain his need as the air between them became humid.

This knowledge did not make remaining motionless and silent any easier. Not when that torturous hand slid over his sack and back up, wrapping firmly around his cock that was now at full mast. Altaïr shut his eyes and tried to put his mind somewhere else as Malik's fist pumped over his shaft, a slow, maddeningly tight grip. It took all his will power not to thrust into his hand, to turn over and push Malik down so they could rut like animals. Each time his hand moved up was one step closer to not caring about the risks involved or that they would be seen and likely stoned by common people as well as guards. Altaïr could barely restrain his want, but he did. He was the grandmaster, the eagle of Masyaf, Malik and his sinful hand would not win.

It became a battle fought in silence, Malik trying to break the grandmaster and Altaïr fighting not to be broken. Lips danced across his sensitive neck, a swipe of tongue here, a bite there, all in perfect rhythm with that stroke upon his member. Malik accentuated with the sinful feeling with his thumb smearing the drops of his pre come across his head, pressing into the slit at his peak. Altaïr was burning alive, strands of straw cracking and turning to dust in his fists as he gripped them tighter and tighter.

Steadily but slowly that hand moved faster and faster, pushing Altaïr to the brink and keeping him there. Holding him there as this torture was drawn out, turning the master assassin into nothing more than an animal. He wanted to beg and to scream and to demand release from the other man, or just take it for himself. He was stronger than Malik, he could do it, he could change their positions, shred clothes away from Malik's ass with his hidden blade and take him. But the assassin knew better and his entire being was assassin. Thinking of claiming that tight cavern he knew so well only intensified the sensation and the insanity it forced him to suffer from as the assassin did not move and did not make a sound.

One strong bite in the junction of neck and shoulder, followed by a swift, firm jerk and Altaïr was finished. He bit his lip till it bled to withhold his sounds of sublime joy and pleasure as Malik pumped his release from him, sullying the stack of hay in which they had hidden. For a few long, relaxing moments they lay together, Altaïr basking in the afterglow as Malik tucked him back into his robes. Malik broke this moment, as he had a tendency to do.

"Had I wanted to, I could have killed you at any moment. Submitting like a woman was never part of our training." Anger bloomed in Altaïr's chest at Malik's words and without thinking he rolled, turned, pushed away from Malik and planted his feet in the other man's stomach, ousting him from the haystack in that swift, powerful kick. Altaïr heard the thud of Malik hitting the ground and the voice of a guard not far off "There! Infidel!" followed by the sound of Malik sweeping himself up to his feet and taking off at a run.

Before Altaïr left to aid the rafiq, he couldn't help but think that yes, it would have been a very effective way to kill a man.


	3. Assassinate from Ledge

Last chapter! Enjoy and beware the man sex lemon if you don't like that sort of thing, but giggle over the fact that when I write sex it makes the chapter longer than the rest of the fic combined. Oh my dirty mind.

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It had been four days that he had been puzzling over how to correctly go about it.

Four days since he had accompanied the master at arms on a training mission for three novices to experience their first time in the field. He had merely acted as their protection for the mistakes they would surely make (after all, none of them were Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad who had gone on his first mission and performed as though he had done it hundreds of times. Admittedly even now he still clung to some of his arrogance) but in doing so he had pioneered something incredibly useful that was at the same time tactless in its execution. One of the novices had failed to see an archer string his bow and take aim, the master at arms was too far away to be spoken to, Altaïr had no throwing knives left and had no time to creep onto the roof and stalk quietly behind the man.

He simply had to act. Even though his men would joke quietly among themselves that their new Grandmaster was cold, unfeeling and cared little for their lives, this was not the case. Each one of them had sworn their life to their brotherhood, as he had as well, and Altaïr had been humbled from what he used to be and what most knew him as. He no longer saw them as hindrances and expendable resources, but brothers. He would not allow a brother to die needlessly, and though he would not dare to say it to anyone it was this emotion which drove him up that wall, fast and silent. And tactless.

The only sound that came from the archer and the man clinging to the wall just beyond his sight had been the whistling _shink_ of his blade, a surprised sigh and a soft and heavy thud from far off. He had scaled the wall until he clung to the ledges at the archer's feet and in one fluid motion, hoisted himself upward, making the next hand hold his blade buried deep into the man's belly, nearly missing in the half blind stab. Death came swiftly and the body threated to crumble into the hold. Altaïr struggled against the weight of the fresh corpse as death overcame it, gritting his teeth when he'd found that while he had saved the novice he had also landed himself in quite the predicament. The archer's bow dropped from his dead grasp and smacked him in the head before falling to the ground, which was ultimately where Altaïr had to fling the corpse as well.

The master at arms had also seen this lack of grace and on their way back to Masyaf, while the novices trailed behind them grinning at each other in silent celebration, the man commented on it. "I had never seen an assassination quite like it, but you were lucky. Had your blade not found the right point the man would have been live at the end of your arm with you at his mercy." The man said with no other intent than to tell Altaïr what was true, not to reprimand him. It was odd how he expected him to. He had become too accustomed to Malik's verbal lashings. "Yes, though if it could be perfected this technique would be an invaluable tool to our order. Malik will help me hone this skill and then I will teach it to the novices." Altaïr said; his voice distant as he thought of other things aside from the conversation at hand, little did others know being a Grandmaster at 24 was weary work. Perhaps that was how he failed to see what the master at arms did.

"Malik? Are you sure that's wise? While the Dai is undoubtedly skilled and your second, the man is an invalid. The technique cannot be performed by a man with only one arm." At the man's words Altaïr's hands tightened on the reins enough to make the horse pause. That was the only realization he had shown before he allowed the topic to drift into silence. Yes, Malik could and would still help him, he simply would be the one being assassinated, but that was not his concern. Malik might have one arm but he also had an empty limb full of rage at the mention of its absence. Altaïr could have a way with words, or at least seem so when he said so little, but this was something else entirely.

Four days and Altaïr still hadn't worked up the courage to say anything to his friend and lover. Tonight would have to be different. He could not let this fester; he simply had to do it fast and all at once like pulling an arrow from the body.

They sat together in Altaïr's quarters at the table where he had spent many an hour pouring over the apple of eden. The sun had sank below the horizon hours ago and only a few candles lit the room as Malik read over Altaïr's latest notes on the apple and Altaïr stared out the window, prepping himself for his companion's anger.

"Malik," The man's name caused his eyes to lift and rest upon Altaïr, dark and expectant. There was a long pause that caused Malik to sit up and lean back in his chair, his gaze more and more critical. He knew Altaïr too well. Altaïr drew in a deep breath through his nose. "I need you to help me perfect another new technique. We will ride out tomorrow and use one of the old watch towers." Avoidance was easy, but Altaïr knew Malik too well to assume the man would simply agree. To assume that the man wouldn't look at him with those liquid charcoal eyes and see weakness, see everything he was as though he were naked before him. The way Malik saw right through him would have made him shudder if he did not know the anger that would precede it.

Malik's lips thinned; a rumble of thunder before the storm broke in all its fury. "Ah yes, of course Grandmaster, I will leave everything I had to do tomorrow to come indulge you since I have nothing but time to serve your whims." This was nothing compared to what was coming, Altaïr knew. "And why do we need to go so far from Masyaf to perfect this technique?" Malik _knew_. Not the specifics, but he knew this would make him angry, could see it in Altaïr's mannerisms and his lover's failure to meet his eyes. No one made Altaïr uncomfortable or nervous except Malik and he would be lying if he said that he did not enjoy having that power over the man. That did not make him desire whatever new irritation Altaïr was about to lay before him but he was almost eager for another venue to assert dominance over the man. To make him know that he was not invincible, that even he could be brought to heel by a stronger man. It was necessary, lest he follow Al Mualim's footsteps or lest he fall into desperation for all the responsibility placed on him.

Altaïr shifted and grimaced, not at Malik's words but instead at how dry his throat became. "I did not want the rest of the order to think you weak or crippled. The technique cannot be performed with only one arm." His sentenced was punctuated with a hard slap of Malik's hand against the table. Rage coiled across the face he had come to love like a fire taking to the kindling. Altaïr sat very still as the man across from him grew hot with anger; knowing that to say or do anything now was only to make the fire burn brighter and hotter. He exhaled deeply, disliking this situation immensely. Malik was so strong, yet at the same time so fragile and he responded to his pain with this anger.

Surprisingly the man said nothing. He rose from his chair, paced a few steps, glared at Altaïr so fiercely that he cringed as if singed by the heat of it. It was the longest minute Altaïr could recall as he awaited violence, verbal or otherwise, that never came. Malik broke the silence with the sound of his chair scraping across the floor as he tucked it back beneath the table, so hard it nearly fell over. "Very well Grandmaster, we will ride out at dawn." And Malik left, the door shutting behind him and sounding much louder than it was.

Altaïr slept in cold blankets that night, resigned to his fate.

Interpersonal relationships had never been his strong point he had chosen perhaps the least viable person to have as a lover and friend. They had been rivals in their youth, civil and critical of one another. And then they had been bitter enemies, which only went a step farther when Malik came to hate him bitterly over the loss of his brother and arm. To go from this to friends and then to lovers was something of a miracle that happened solely because of Malik and his ability to forgive Altaïr, yet this forgiveness did not heal wounds. Altaïr knew that had anyone else said the same thing Malik would have been angry, but not quite as much as when he said it. Having the man that cost him his arm pay attention not only to its loss but how Malik _felt_ about it was a stiff brush on a slow healing wound.

It had to be done, and Altaïr would surely pay for it. He simply wished the price didn't seem to be so high or merciless.

The ride out of Masyaf had been quiet and proceeded as if Malik had never been angry or if he had simply seen Altaïr's point and appreciated his concern. The latter was very unlikely. They dismounted and tied their horses as Altaïr explained the assassination and how they might practice it and make it a skill worthy of being taught. They discussed how to best practice without either getting hurt and Malik proceeded up one of the ladders to the roof of the tower where he would play the victim likely the only time in his life.

With the first attempt it was clear that Altaïr had not been forgiven. He scaled the building silent as a shadow and reached up for his target when Malik's hand wrapped around his wrist and stopped him. Altaïr only had a moment to look up, eyes wide and mouth agape in question, finding Malik's eyes that were obsidian black and hard with anger. Nothing was said, but the smallest of smiles crept across Malik's face just before he flung the assassin backwards. Altaïr went careening down, arms flailing and ungraceful, having only a moment to look over his shoulder to see that he was falling into the pile of hay intended for Malik. It seemed the rafiq had other plans.

Altaïr climbed his way out of the haystack, brushing straw from his sleeves and looking up at Malik, frustrated. "I think you're doing it wrong!" He called up to the other man, more than a little passive aggressive but straight forward aggression always made things worse with Malik.

The dark haired dai leaned over the ledge, looking down at the hooded assassin as he called out to him. "Oh, I'm sorry novice, did you assume the guards would have no arms at all or that they couldn't hear that ape crawling up the wall? My mistake." Malik said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Come, let's try again." Altaïr frowned; muttering swears and curses under his breath. Now he knew how this was going to be. He dusted himself off and began to climb.

And was thrown from the tower. Again and again and again. What he had hoped would only occupy their morning stretched well into the afternoon, the sun beating hard down upon them, leaving Altaïr sweating and out of breath for all his effort while Malik continued to mock him as he enjoyed the cool drafts of air the height of the tower provided him with. With each toss to the ground the haystack grew thinner and thinner, and countless times Altaïr was forced to pause and rake his cushion back into place while enduring Malik mocking him from above.

It had been hours. Six? Maybe seven when Altaïr decided upon a very different approach. Malik was lounging upon the ledge, waiting for Altaïr to finish recollecting the hay, complaining about how much work he could be getting done instead of chaperoning Altaïr as played like a child in the hay. Altair cast a glance upward, seeing the dai had his back turned and with a sudden whim of a decision he began to climb. His robes were soaked with sweat and made him feel ungraceful and uncoordinated, his limbs tired and his head pounding but his goal helped him to see through all of that.

Silent as the breeze that kept Malik comfortable, he crept up the wall, scaling the ledge while Malik was oblivious, staring into the horizon of the setting sun, foolishly blinded by its radiance. Altaïr pushed himself up until he was perched behind him, the dai none the wiser. He could have thrown Malik from the tower as his lover had done to him so many times, he could have punched him for making this so difficult or he could have proven his point. Instead he kissed him.

One arm snaked beneath Malik's and wrapped about his torso, holding him tightly as his free hand tilted the man's head back so their lips could meet. Oh how his lover could hold a grudge, but Altaïr knew how to soothe him and still his furiously beating wings.

_I'm sorry._

Malik's body that had felt rigid seemed to soften and he returned Altaïr's kiss, just for a moment, before reaching up to grab hold of the fabric covering his shoulder, tossing the assassin forward to send him sprawling upon his back, though onto the stone floor of the tower roost and not hurdling into the half made haystack below. He was forgiven, and judging by the amused smile on Malik's face, he had been forgiven long ago. For that reason Altaïr remained where he had landed, lifting himself up to lean on his elbows and look at his lover as he strode towards him.

"Well played novice." Malik said as he came to kneel between Altaïr's legs which spread to accommodate him. "I thought so too." Altaïr said, pushing his hood down his shoulders and sighing in relief as the breeze tore through his dampened hair. He looked at Malik with expectant golden eyes. After having spent the day being thrown from a tower by him they were more than even, he deserved the explanation he felt he shouldn't even have to ask for.

Malik understood. "I was angry at first but I haven't been, not for a while. I understand, but I was frustrated." He said nonchalantly, though it was not a moment to be taken lightly. Malik spoke of his emotions little and less, even to Altaïr. He still sought to distract his lover from it by deftly undoing his sweaty robes and stripping them away as he spoke. "My frustration provided an opportunity. It is not like you to nearly fail an assassination no matter how obscure the technique, you've needed time away, from the order and you're damned apple." Altaïr was almost touched by the sentiment, though gasped as belt came undone and his white outer robe was stripped away, leaving him feeling cold in his sweaty grey tunic.

"For the sake of our order, I could not allow you to continue as you were lest you make another catastrophic mistake. So this is your retreat." Ah, there it was, the lashings and taunts that Altaïr was used to. Heaven forbid Malik become too sentimental. "So in order to help me relax you threw me from the watch tower dozens of times?" Altair questioned indignantly, grunting as the grey tunic was torn out from underneath him and up over his head, his upper body bare to the cool air.

Eying his scarred torso in fascination, Malik laid his hand upon his abdomen in idle admiration, swiping rapidly drying sweat across his body as he traced a scar here and there with his thumb languidly. "It kept your mind off the order and the apple, didn't it?" Malik said with a playful grin that looked more like a smirk if you didn't know him. Altaïr huffed in disagreement, pushing the man's hand away. "By ensuring I will be covered in bruises in the morning, yes it did. I humbly ask that you never help me relax again." Altaïr said defiantly, not quite ready to let go of the irritation he felt from falling countless times from the watch tower. Even so, he could not help the coil of heat in his loins. With how busy he had been and how absorbed his time had been by the apple, it had been too long since he last lay with Malik.

Malik simply grinned, leaning forward so that he could push Altaïr back, throwing him off his elbows and landing him flat on his back with Malik leaning over him. "You may reconsider that when I am through with you novice." Malik assured, his tone dropping into that thick, smooth tone Altaïr knew all too well, making him shiver despite himself, anticipating where this was going. The dai continued to lean forward, their mouths a breath apart. Altaïr grinned loosely, eyes becoming hooded in the proximity and the promise it held. "And why is that, rafiq?"

"I am going to take you, Altaïr. Hard and without mercy, and I want to hear you scream my name into the wind."

Altaïr could barely restrain his groan that was quickly swallowed in a heated kiss, Malik's hand fisting into the hair at the nape of his neck and bringing their mouths crashing together. Need perforated their usual slow and subtly affectionate lovemaking, exhaustion and exercise making Altair's limbs feel that much more sensitive. He made quick work of the dai's clothes, the robe flung away before he drew back panting from the mouth devouring his own to pull the man's tunic over his head. It was only a moment to catch his breath before Malik descended upon him once again, the dai's mouth instead finding his neck were he licked up sweat and tasted his lover's skin.

Shivers racked down his body and Altaïr could not tell if it was due to Malik's mouth exploiting every erogenous zone on his neck or the breeze blowing past his damp skin. One hand scraped across Malik's back, hard enough to pull up skin beneath his nails but not enough to break it, making Malik groan and thrust forward so that their clothed erections collided. Altaïr's head flung back and he could not stand the heat. He needed, wanted everything right now, right then. Their pants still stood in their way and he thrust his hand beneath Malik's, grabbing a fistful of his ass and delighting in the feel. "Malik," He grunted, thrusting against the other man and moaning through grit teeth as the man juxtaposed the sensation with a hard bite between his shoulder and neck.

"Malik, your pants." Altaïr spoke again, voice rattled and uneven. Malik also felt the need to be rid of them. This would be over soon; they needed to grasp hold of it while it still lasted. The dai backed away from Altaïr only far enough so that they both might hurry out of the remains of their respective clothing. The moment of detachment was worth it when they came together again as the feeling of skin on skin saw their low moans joining and mixing.

One of his legs was lifted to rest on Malik's shoulder as the dai sat back on his heels, dark eyes smoldering down at Altaïr in the fading light and lust. "Suck." Malik's fingers pressed to Altaïr's lips only for a moment before he allowed them entry. He laved at the digits with his tongue and slid it between them before he sucked on each one, feeling Malik thrust against his hips in rhythm to the actions of his mouth. Altaïr's eyes closed and Malik loved how he looked just then, the master assassin turned into a blissful whore, sucking on his fingers and grinding his ass into Malik's dry thrusts.

He could take no more. He pulled his fingers from Altaïr's mouth forcefully, bringing them down to his entrance where one entered without pause. Altaïr thrust against Malik's fingers, one by one, feeling tortured for how long it took. Malik watched in captivation as the master assassin grit his teeth and rutted against his fingers, eyes squinted shut and lost as he pleasured himself, briefly unaware of Malik's fixation. His eyes flickered open and he half growled, half moaned in frustration to see Malik's amusement.

"Is this what you call hard and without mercy?" Altaïr mocked, sure to provoke the dai into movement. Which it did, making him crook his fingers and brush that spot within him that had him howling, falling backwards. "Oh _yes._" He moaned, much to Malik's amusement. "Patience novice, it has been so long since I have felt your heat and it's a long ride back to Masyaf." Malik teased as he began to brutalize that spot with his fingers, making Altaïr writhe upon the stone floor, moaning and babbling the other man's name.

"I don't care, _fuck_, Malik—Oh! Oh _fuck_. Ah-hah, just do it, just do it damn it." He swore and begged, riveted by jolt after jolt of blinding pleasure as Malik massaged that spot gently and tauntingly. He reached for his weeping erection, grasping it only for a moment before Malik's fingers were removed from his body so that his hand might be swatted away. Altaïr almost sobbed at the loss and thrust against Malik's member pressed hard between his thighs in hopes of encouraging him.

It failed to do so and the man took Altaïr by the hip, pressing him down hard and scooting backwards to deny Altair even the feeling of Malik's cock between his legs. He smiled down at the man below him, enjoying this side of Altaïr no one ever got to see but him. No one made him lose control like this, to make him forget his training, forget his silence and lack of words all for the desire he felt for Malik. "You do not order me around, Altaïr. You must _beg _for it and perhaps I will oblige." He taunted, pinning the assassin's hips to the floor as he tried to thrust upward, to find his hand or any pleasure of any kind.

The master assassin growled between his teeth and was half tempted to throw Malik down and ride him to his fruition, then take the man for all the torment he had caused. But Malik's grip was strong and he was so desperate. He needed this. He needed to surrender control and Malik needed to feel strong. He hadn't felt so much need and desire in what felt like ages, every second denied was increasingly more painful as he writhed underneath the man's hold. The dai had successfully subdued Altaïr.

"Please, please Malik, fuck me, I need you." Altaïr begged, though Malik continued to hold him down, only scooting closer as his own need grew towards the point of no restrain. "Louder." Malik demanded in a rough voice that cracked with his own need.

"Please Malik, fuck me. I need to feel your cock, I want you to spend yourself inside me, I want you to claim me. Fuck me, please, _Malik._" And how could he say no?

His hand left Altair's hip so that he might reposition his leg upon his shoulder, dragging Altaïr's body closer to his own just before guiding his cock inside the assassin. There was a pause only so that Malik might balance himself, leaning over Altair with a hand pressed into the floor above his shoulder, holding him in place. Altaïr did not even flinch at the intrusion, only moaned, rutting against the thick member inside him even as Malik refused to move.

"Stop, stop, oh you whore, stop your wriggling." Malik grunted as he struggled to find his balance above his lover. Once he did he leaned down to claim his mouth and swallow his screams as he began to thrust. It had been so long. Too long since Altaïr had allowed him to take him, too long since he had felt this tight heat hugging his cock and threatening to swallow all his rationale. He plunged into the man mercilessly, shallow, hard thrusts that shook the body below him, driving against that spot inside his lover. Altaïr clung to Malik's back, nails biting into his skin as he met the man thrust for thrust, his vision fading between color and white. He felt so useless there, only able to push against those thrusts and moan Malik's name to the heavens above as he clung to him but each thrust shook his senses from him.

"Yes, _yes, _harder, just a little harder." Altaïr pleaded, dazed by the feeling, his mind dancing to the sound of their pants, moans and skin slapping against skin. Malik obliged him, fucking that _oh god so tight _hole harder, leaving that spot under unrelenting attack.

Dark brown eyes bore into the man below him, drinking in the sight and knowing that if they continued he would be done much sooner than his lover. "Touch yourself." He commanded, his voice gravelly. "Do it now. Come with me." He did as commanded though could restrain himself from doing so no longer. When his hand wrapped around his erection it was everything Altaïr not to come right there and then but this retreat from the edge was barely noticeable as Malik threw him over it with a hard thrust that came crashing against his prostate. They screamed each other's names as they came, Altaïr spilling across his belly and Malik's as Malik's seed filled his lover.

The post coital bliss hit them like a heavy drug induced wave and Malik nearly fell on top of his lover though instead just managed to slump down and lean his weight into his elbow resting alongside Altaïr's body. He rested his head on Altaïr's shoulder, breathing him in and giving a breath of a laugh as the man reached up and thread a hand through his hair. Always so affectionate after sex.

The sun was sinking behind them and darkness rapidly spreading, but Altaïr took a moment to look at Malik, what little he could see of him from so close. Blanketed by a fine sheen of sweat, his skin bronze in the fading light and moisture, Altaïr had rarely seen him look so handsome. It was a job well done of taking his mind off the order, the apple and everything in between.

With a mixture of a sigh and a grunt, Malik withdrew from Altaïr and rolled to lie alongside him. Altaïr sat up just enough to look down at himself, lip curling in vague disgust. "Filthy," He muttered lowly, to which Malik responded with a grin and a satisfied "You're welcome." Altaïr gave a roll of his eyes that Malik didn't see and he twisted, reaching out to snatch up Malik's dark blue coat, wiping himself clean with it. Malik noticed only after the deed was done, slapping Altaïr's arm in immediate retaliation.

"Why not use your clothes? They're filthy anyway." Malik questioned, snatching his coat and examining the damage in displeasure. Altaïr looked over at him, an expression of pleased contempt on his face. "You threw me from the roof of a building. _Dozens of times._" To this Malik chuckled, tossing the coat aside as the damage was done. "Well worth it."

After that they lay together in comfortable silence, basking in the fading dusk and watching as stars began to dot the skies. They had not done anything like this since they were both novices, a time that felt as though it were ages ago. It was good to feel twenty four years old for a little while again.

Malik broke their silence, doing a poor job of hiding the laugh in his voice. "You know we'll have to practice again tomorrow, you never actually performed successfully."

Altaïr's frustrated yell rattled birds from their nests.


End file.
